Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (27 page)

“I’m not Dane MacAlister’s,” Ginger answered, managing with an effort to keep her voice calm.

“Yes, you are,” Tahoma piped up. “It’s all the grown-ups are talking about. Anyway, if you’re not his, then who’s going to protect you?”

Oh, shit.
“Okay. You’re right. I am Dane MacAlister’s. But I have business with Hunter, too. Where’s the Fishhook, girls?”

Louisa pointed further down the path—so Tahoma did too, imitatively.

“Follow this,” Louisa said confidently. “It’ll take you to the pier. You have to follow the water inland from there. It’s got a curve, so we call it the Fishhook, but it’s just a stream before it reaches the bay. Okay? He lives on the hook’s curve.”

“Alone,” Tahoma added, as if this was a scandalous point.

“Okay. Great. Thanks.”

She started off down the path again, but Louisa called out to her again.

“Miss Ginger!”

Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Ginger met the girl’s eyes.

“Tell Dane MacAlister we helped you!”

The sisters collapsed into fits of giggles.

She’d had to pass by the island’s busy dock, around which was crowded a veritable village of cabins, and almost every man, woman, and child present had stared at her as she’d appeared. They’d looked up from their conversations and their grilling and their net repair as if
she
were the mythical creature, not them. No one had said anything, or done anything, but it had still been a relief to follow the waterside trail back into the woods and away from their eyes.

It took another forty minutes to reach what had to be Hunter’s cabin. She reckoned it was three by then, at least; the sunlight had a noticeable slant through the trees.

The cabin wasn’t fancy. It was unpainted, and the wood was unfinished, greyed by weather. Black twinberry shrubs and red maple saplings grew right up to its sides. The glass in the little windows was warped and one pane was broken. But smoke was coming out of the little metal spout of its chimney-stove, so she knew someone was home.

Instead of fear, anger frothed to the surface of her heart.
This idiot brought me here. He should have known better! He had to’ve known better!

She stomped up to the cabin’s splintery door, inhaled, and then knocked as hard and loud as she could.

It took a minute. The forest sighed in the sea-wind. Waxwings twittered.

But Hunter finally opened the door.

And she slapped him right across his handsome face.

“Shit, girl, steady!” he shouted. “Don’t—”

“You dumb fucker! This is your fault! How could you bring me here, Beaumont?” The words poured out, furious. “Didn’t you
know
it’d be open season on me? And Dane? I bet you did. You wanted Dane to go down. But me?”

“Calm down!” He held out his calloused hands placatingly. “Just—count to three or something, Ginger. I didn’t know that anyone would try to hurt y—”

“Bullcrap! You had to know it was against your stupid bear laws to have humans on this island. What did you think would happen?”

“I thought Dane would catch heat for it! Maybe enough to knock him from the running for Alpha. Nothing more! Nothing violent! You gotta understand, Ginger. Gunnar’s changed things. It didn’t use to be like this. No one would be executed for—”

“What’re you cooking?” she asked abruptly.

“What am I… cooking?”

She’d wrong-footed him, and it was deeply satisfying to see the blank, baffled expression on his scruffy face.

“Yes. What are you making?”

“Me? I—Pan-fried salmon. Late lunch.”

“Sounds good. I’ll have some.” She ducked under his arm and slipped past the doorframe.

“Hey! Ginger! I didn’t say… ah, fuck.”

The cabin interior was just like the exterior: rough and unfussy. It was one room, the walls and ceiling untreated pine board. In a corner, near some cabinets and a cedar hutch, set on a stone base, was an antique woodstove. On the far side of the room there was a spindle-log bed covered with a cotton quilt. In the middle was a hand-carved table with matching chairs. She slid into one of them; its back had a pine-tree-shaped cutout.

She stared at him expectantly. He sighed.

“Okay, fine. Great. Won’t you stay for lunch?”

“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks.” She crossed her arms. “Dish it up.”

Grumblingly, he did. She eyed the cabin wall near the door while he was busy. Coats hung from wooden pegs, boots scattered underneath. There was a jumble of fishing equipment on the floor, and a mounted hunting rifle that could be lifted down in an emergency.

“Here. Not fancy.” He slid a plate in front of her.

“Never heard of a taste profile, huh?” she asked, eyeing the baked-beans-and-salmon meal.

“I knew they couldn’t have manners where you’re from,” he grunted, sitting next to her. “Or you wouldn’t have invited yourself to get on my boat, and then to eat my—”

“Tell me what you know about Gunnar.”

He stared at her. “Tough girl, aren’t you?”

“Answer my question.”

“Why? MacAlister won’t tell you?”

“Dane’s busy,” she sniffed. “You tell me.”

“Too busy to talk to you?”

“You can wear this plate as a hat, or you can tell me what you know about Gunnar, Beaumont!”

He actually chuckled. She caught an impressed glint in his gold-and-caramel eyes.

“Alright… okay. Mercy.” He picked up his fork. “Hm. Where to start?

“I said it was different, didn’t I? Before he came on the scene? Well, it was. Things’d relaxed. Some of the ancient laws were dying out, and it was a good thing, too. We ignored them—didn’t need them anymore. There were precious few accusations and judgments and councils. Those were good times. Progress.”

She watched him eat, not touching hers. “I dunno anything about Gunnar’s early life. His clan comes outta the boreal forest in Saskatchewan, somewhere north of Prince Albert. Honestly, he never even used to come to the Gathering.

“But once he started to, these last few clanmeets… I tell you, Ginger. The man’s dangerous. He’s a traditionalist. No, more like a revivalist. He wants to resurrect the old law and the old ways. And he’s convinced a lot of people to think like him.”

“So, if I had landed here before he had any influence,” Ginger asked slowly, “what would have happened?”

Hunter shrugged. “Not much. Someone might’ve brought a complaint to the elders, and there might even have been a formal council. But all that would’ve happened in the end would’ve been your removal. I’d probably sail you back to Salt Spring myself. Dane’s reputation would take a hit, for mixing with a human girl—a bad hit, maybe. But nothing worse.

“Now, though—eat your salmon—now things are different. He’s got people believing that if only they adhere to the ancient laws, we can strengthen our clans and ourselves. Build our power. Maybe, in time, reveal ourselves to your kind… make you cower.”

He snorted. “Insanity, of course. All the old laws do in this day and age is hold us back, eh? And endanger us, you want my opinion. What if we actually did put you to death, Ginger? You got family, right? Someone would look into your disappearance, wouldn’t they? Bet they would.”

“Yeah. They would.” Laila, first of all, but her other friends in Seattle, too.
“Where’s Ginger? Has anyone seen Ginger?” “Not since the fifteenth. When did
you
last see Ginger?”
And her parents, back in Boston. Her brother in China. Aunt in Jacksonville. Lots of people. “Several dozen someones.”

“Right… eat your salmon. That’s what I’m talking about.” He stared at her; for a second she was distracted, realizing again just how handsome he was. “Look, Ginger. I swear to God, I had no idea things would get this bad. I should’ve listened to Catríona—I should’ve. I underestimated how much Gunnar had built up support. I underestimated the shit he was gonna stir. And I’m sorry about that. I truly am.”

“Feel free to apologize to my mauled corpse if this goes too far,” Ginger said sweetly.

He winced. “I won’t let it go that far! I swear to you, here and now. You’re right, this is partly my fault, Ginger, and I’m gonna protect you. It’s my responsibility. Okay?”

She stared at him for a long, terse minute. Then she tried her first forkful of salmon. “This isn’t bad, you know?”

He snorted. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll help you wash up,” she said when they were done. The sunlight spotlighting in through the wavy glass of the cabin windows had the marigold color of late afternoon. Dust motes swam in the beams.

“Nah, it’s a pain. No running water. I’ll do it later.”

“No running water?” She stared at him, horrified.

He looked like he was trying not to laugh at her. “No. I mean… it’s a cabin. Look around, eh?”

“How do you shower?” She drew back. “
Do
you shower?”

“There’s a gravity shower down the hill. Cistern fed. You should try it sometime.” His mouth twitched.

“Thanks, but Dane lives like he belongs to this century, so I think I’ll keep taking my showers at his place.”

Hunter’s humor died immediately. “Yeah, I bet he does. Tell me, is it true his toilet paper’s made of money?”

“Yes.”

“Knew it.”

“What’s your deal, anyway?” she asked, folding her arms.

He gazed at her. “Get up. Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

“What? Why?”

“Just come on. We can talk on the trail.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I don’t like being inside longer than I have to. Up, Ginj!”

She followed him along a footpath, a narrow one walled in red huckleberry and bigleaf maple. Far overhead, white pine and western hemlock groaned in the wind.

“Smell that?”

“Smell what? The sea? Yeah.”

“No. That campfire. Guess you can’t.”

“Sorry I’m just human.”

“Well, we can’t help our limitations.”

“Tool.”

“Are you afraid of dogs?” he asked, ignoring her.

“Dogs? No…”

“Good. Here come a few.”

“What? Where—?”

A couple of blond mutts burst out of the undergrowth, barking loudly and circling Ginger; the smaller one started jumping on her excitedly.

“No, Kiva! Down, Kiva!” Hunter clapped; the dog backed off, panting. “Both of you leave Ginger alone!”

“It’s okay. I like dogs. Can I pet them?”

“Yeah, sure.”

A little cautiously, she patted Kiva on the head. “What’s the other one’s name?”

“Jackal. They belong to a family I know. Part of the Churchill River clan.”

“Hey, baby. Hey, baby. Ooh, baby, hi hi!” Ginger babytalked, scratching both smiling, tongue-lolling dogs behind their ears. “Hi, babies. Hi hi. Hi, babieeeess.”

“Animal lover, huh?” he said, watching her approvingly.

“Completely. Not soft on werebears, though.”

He smiled; it was a crooked smile, but sexier because of it. “Well, hell, I won’t try to change your mind.” He snapped, getting the dogs’ attention. “Kiva! Jackal! Go home!”

They recognized the command and bounded away, breaking through the lady fern and vine maple.

She watched him closely; he was gazing in the direction the dogs had gone with an unreadable expression. “Where’s your family, Beaumont?”

“Family?” he grunted. “Why d’you ask? Come on. Follow me.”

“Okay, let’s try this question.” She trailed him down the track; the smell of salt was getting stronger and stronger. “Where’s your clan?”

“Watch these roots.”

She didn’t, and stumbled. He caught her.

“Ugh! Why did you guys choose this island?” she asked, pulling away and being more careful.

“No native bears.”

“Really? But there’s bears on Vancouver Island…”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the main island. It’s missing lots of animals that’re on the mainland and the big island. Hey, Ginger, up here. There’s a view.” The track steepened, almost verticalized, and roughened with big rocks; he offered her his hand. Deciding to forego pride, she gripped it.

They got up on the crest. And she had to gasp.

Below them was a steep, rocky sandstone cliff, its bottom full of wave-cut pockets; the rush and pull of surf was wonderful to hear. Across a turbulent, sun-glittering strait, she could see a handful of other islands that looked just like Storm Isle; Sitka spruce and Pacific silver fir weaved on their cliffs in the wind. Mew’s gulls and black oystercatchers wheeled over the choppy, cold-looking water.

Ginger crouched down into some deer fern and sat. Hunter hesitated, then sat too, beside her.

“Really beautiful,” she admitted.

“It is. Thought you’d like it.”

“You did?” she asked, surprised.
Did he… bring us here to show me this?

“Uh huh,” he said, a little evasively. “So. Ginger. How’re you and Dane planning to fight this thing?”

“What? The… like… bear-law charges? I don’t know. He hasn’t told me exactly what he’s doing. Talking to people, I guess.”

“Hmm.” He stared out over the water, toward the rocky coastlines of the other islands. “Well, MacAlister has a lot of pull. People respect him. Fear him, even.”

“Fear him?”

“Sure. Word is, you saw him as a bear. True?” She nodded. “Right. That means you should understand, Ginger. The size of him… the raw power… who wouldn’t be afraid of that? Bulk and might… ferocity… those are things we admire.” He shifted, to lean back on his palms. “But it’s not just his sheer strength. He’s smart, too. Smart and wealthy. He makes his way out in the thick of the human world—none of us do that. Add to that that he comes from nothing.” He snorted. “He’s impressive, even I’ll give him that. And he’s got the elders’ ears. Everyone listens to him.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked, glancing at her. She was struck again by how handsome he was. Tall, powerfully made, broad-shouldered. Big, worn hands. Strong-jawed, with strong cheekbones, and piercingly bright eyes. A short growth of beard. Chocolate-brown hair, tousled. Tanned skin.

She had a sudden wild urge to nip a line of muscle on his unshaven neck; to kiss his jawline, bite his ear. It embarrassed her.

“I heard you threw in to be Alpha, too.”

He barked a laugh. “Someone had to challenge him, Ginger! Someone who
wasn’t
that little worm Gunnar. Why does MacAlister think he can lead us?” His eyes flashed; her stomach flipped at the flicker of pure gold. “He spends his life in cities, living and working with humans. What does he think about besides human money, human laws, human problems? What room is there in his brain for
our
issues? Does he even understand his own people? How we live? It’s not like he spends any time with us outside the Gathering season.